Cheers to you, Fred
by Meggily
Summary: Oliver Wood reflects on moments in his life, and the one Moment that stands out above them all.  Some KatieOliver moments.  Fred also makes an appearance. !Warning: DH spoilers!


**A/N:** Hello, all. This is really my first fic, seeing as my others were sort of school related and I haven't even posted most of 'em... This was purely for the sake of writng itself. So please read and review, and let me know if I lived up to the standards of ff dot net.

**WARNING: THIS CONTAINS DH SPOILERS!**

_Disclaimer_: In no way, shape, or form do I own anything related to The Harry Potter series, and you know what? Even some of this bloody plot belongs to you, JKR...so let's just say I own a couple of these scenarios and be done with it. 

And, without further adieu, I present Cheers to You, Fred.

* * *

One Moment. A frozen image, clear as a crystal, as if it had happened but a second ago. This is a rare thing in the hectic chaos we call our lives, but take care that you remember that rare does not mean impossible, or even improbable. 

I, Oliver Wood, have had only one such moment.

It was not the moment in which I first realized that I was truly a wizard, a man of my own, and that my mum was telling the truth about this grand place called Hogwarts when an owl swooped through the kitchen window bearing a letter from the very place. This memory is comforting, very dear to me, yet it is a fuzzy one, distorted by time and nostalgia. I can remember the smell of the oatmeal burning on the stove (Mum never was a very good cook, to be honest), and seeing the flash of her gold wedding band as she hurried about in a frazzled and exasperated rush to get the oatmeal to stop burning. I also remember the faint smell of her perfume; White Shoulders, I think it was called. They don't make it anymore. And even with all this, it is not my one Moment.

Nor was it the time when I first met Katie Bell. 'Twas early on a Saturday morning, and outside the windows of the almost empty Great Hall, a cold September rain was falling. Quidditch trials were to be held at eight o'clock and I was trying to get down a piece of toast or two( I was only a second year after all…what chance did I have?) when I noticed a forlorn looking blonde girl sitting straight across from me. I could tell she was a first year, as she was unfamiliar to me, yet she was wearing Gryffindor robes. I asked her name. She replied with "Well, my _full_ name's Kathryn Anne Siobhan O'Reilly Bell. But you can call me Katie, and I already _know_ that you're Oliver Wood. I've heard all about you in the common room, everyone seems to think that you're very good at Quidditch, something about talent in the family…even though you're not even on the House team…yet, I suppose."  
I thought her name was much too large for her slight frame and impish face that was turned down in a thoughtful frown after that last sentence she had brazenly recited. I harrumphed…you know, that sounds somebody makes when they are at a loss for words and rather don't know what to say to the person in front of them? Sort of like the noise you would make if Luna Lovegood spoke one of her famous blunt truths right to you. That sort of noise. Katie seemed to recognize this as a sign that I was becoming a little disgruntled; all that I wanted was a little peace and some toast before the Quidditch tryouts!

She stood, straightened her robes, and began to walk away. Before she reached the end of the table, she turned and said with a quick little smirk, "Wood, when trials are held next year, do try and put in a good word for me?" Then she resumed her previous path and marched through the doors and out of sight. I think it was her bold personality that stuck to me until the next year, and when trials were held, lo and behold she made the team. But that very first meeting introduced me into a way of life that I would never know the end of: a life with a niggling subconscious that thought about Katie Bell much more than was healthy. (So you see, she made me crazy from a young age; its not really my fault! And yet with all the subtleties and words that I remember from so long ago, this is not the memory that will be forever preserved.

This Moment was not the day from which I thought I would never recover from; my hero, my steady rock was gone and who cold I turn too? Not, it was not the day that my father died. Killed in the line of duty, he was an Auror and a bloody good one at that. To this day, the scent of freshly mown grass still conjures memories of a warm cherry coffin, lying in a field of stones and green and people cloaked in mourning black. The air of death heavily pervaded the senses, assaulting my composure and destroying the barriers I erected for protection against the sadness.  
It was a cloudless and sunny July day after my sixth year, and I don't ever recall a time when I hated nature for being so cruel. For allowing the world to go on and letting happiness exist when this sadness, a deep and unimaginable sorrow, was tearing me apart on this inside. I can't really remember faces, or anything clearly for that matter, for my eyes were clouded with stinging and perseverant tears, tears that I tried so hard to keep in and yet they leaked out of their own accord. I vaguely remember feeling a warm and comforting hand on my forearm for most of the funeral and wake; I think it was Katie's. This memory is one that tears at me, pulls and divides; it is a memory that I'd like to forget so much, because it represents pain and death and the loss of all things dear, and yet I can't let go of it without feeling as if I had done a disservice to my dear old Dad. No, this is most definitely my Moment.

And alas, another memory. The day I first told Katie I loved her. It was only a mere week after I myself had discovered this monumental truth and I was full to bursting with the need to get it off my chest. New fallen snow had blanketed the ugly mud and forgiven the ground of all imperfections with its pearly virgin sheen. I just received word of Katie's encounter with that horrible cursed necklace while she was returning from a Hogsmeade weekend. Despite rumors of my less then frequent correspondence, I remained in quite close contact with Katie, and the rest of the Quidditch team that I had captained and so dearly loved (Tough Love, right?).

I rushed to St. Mungo's and while sitting by her peaceful and horribly quiet bedside, I understood the panic and desperation, horror even, that had raced through my veins faster than Snape running from shampoo. I loved her. It was as simple and complicated as that. I, Oliver Kenneth (Grandad's name) Tobias (Dad's name) Wood, loved Katie Anne Siobhan O'Reilly Bell (Merlin, that's a mouthful). And then with the strangest sense of calm in the midst of despair, I wondered if I would ever be granted the chance to tell her. It was in that hectic St. Mungo's, in an uncomfortable blue vinyl chair on top of even uglier cold gray tiles, that I made a vow to myself, and to Katie too. I vowed that I would tell Katie how I really felt about her the first chance I got, and there was no bloody way in _hell_ that I was going to back down.

And so for the next week I was spending an unhealthy amount of time by Katie's side and even unhealthier amount of time in the bloody ugly blue chair; I swear to Merlin, next time I see one of those chairs I am going to hex it into next Tuesday. When she finally woke up, a tornado of Healers took over the room and I was forced into the bustling hall, and left to wait. I think it was an hour, maybe two, but if felt like a lifetime and by the time I was allowed back into the room I had nearly taken up residence in, my mouth was working faster than my feet. Before my head even crossed through the doorjamb, I was speaking with a rather unusual note of urgency in my voice.

"Katie! Kates! You've got to listen to me, I know you're recovering and you need rest, but this can't bloody well wait and I need to tell you this and I've been nearly bursting this past week and—"

"Wait, wait Oliver, _what?_ I've been out for a week? Holy Merlin, I need to get up! I need to get out of here! I need to get back to school and oh lord, I'm going to miss out on Quidditch and my parents are probably worrying themselves sick—"

"KATIE!"

"_What_, Oliver? _What_ is so important that you _must_ interrupt me whenever I say anything?" At this point, my face was probably near purple with anticipation and annoyance. I wouldn't really know, seeing as I wasn't looking at my self… And then I blurted _it_ out, in a rather coarse and not-at-all-in-the-manner-I-rehearsed-it way.

"I bloody love you! I love you, Katie, and I've been trying to tell you and you interrupted _me_ and—oof!"

And at this point I definitely did _not_ regret my fashion of telling her, as she had pulled my right down next to her on that little bed she was sitting upright in, and kissed me. It was possibly the strangest experience I've ever had. She finally pulled away, and instead of the earnest admission of love from her I expected, she cuffed me on the back of the head and declared, "You giant dolt! I was wondering how long it was going to take you to realize it!" And at the stunned sort of look on my face she added, "Oh yes, I love you too, Ollie. I believe I have for quite some time." That is the happiest I have ever felt…until now.

Standing outside another St. Mungo's room, I feel the anticipation, but it is the nervous and excited sort, and not at all the desperate sort that I felt in this place nearly 4 years ago. The Final Battle occurred nine months ago and Katie and I got married not a week later, in a small and very informal ceremony performed in the church she's attended all her life, St. Brendan's some where in County Clare, Ireland. I wished my father could have been there.

I had George Weasley be my Best Man, and though I normally couldn't have chosen which twin to fill that special position for me, fate had cruelly chosen instead.  
After seeing Harry Potter truly defeat Voldemort for the last time from the steps of Hogwarts, I turned my back on old Voldy's falling figure and rushed towards the Great Hall while calling out for Katie. My fiancé did not answer my pleas and I immediately feared the worst. It was then that I saw the huddle of bright red hair in the corner, with a blond head also just peeking out over what looked to be Mr. Weasley's shoulder. Katie appeared to be shaking. And I knew, even from the distance of 75 or so meters that something was horribly wrong. I was at her side in a flash and then, through all the heads of hair, I saw Fred, cold as the stone floor upon which he was laid. His eyes were closed and still on his lips was the ghost of his last laugh. Then I looked up and saw dear George's hollow stare and it became too much to bear. I stumbled back against the wall, but not before grabbing Katie's hand, and slid down it until I was firmly on the floor. And I don't know how long we stayed that way, in each others arms, mourning for a dear friend who possibly was the single most _alive_ person we had ever known.

The last thing I remember before closing my eyes and rocking back and forth with Katie on my chest was the sight of Angelina. Proud, strong Ange, crumpled up next to Fred's lifeless body, and tears streaming down her face for her lost love, and lost happiness. They were to be married in not two months. And then I closed my eyes and tried to forget the horrors that I had just witnessed. I knew that they would not be going away for a very long time.

And now I am waiting in the maternity ward of St. Mungo's. I feel the pain of remembering death slowly leaving me. I am in the presence of new life! I can feel it! And the screams from the past, the lifeless faces, the loved ones gone…they melt away as soon as I open the door and see my lovely wife, she's glowing with this beautiful baby right there in her arms. And as I stride closer, I see a little shock of red hair in this little boy's head; it's a boy, I know it. And I hear Katie asking me if I want to hold him (see, I was right), but she sounds far away.

And then my son is in my arms, and I know that I can just fell the mischief in his little baby bones. I say to my love, "We'll call him Fred, Kates." I see the tears making her eyes shiny, and I feel that they are not only from happiness of this miracle, but also for missing Fred. I swear when I look up, I see Fred winking at me, his favorite dragon skin jacket glistening under the glare of fluorescent hospital lights. And then he is gone, nothing more than a passing and wishful memory from an old friend.

And that is my Moment. My darling wife and my newborn son in my arms, with the blessing of a friend lost such a short time before. Forever crystallized in the vaults of my mind, never to be lost of forgotten.

So, cheers to you Fred. I know you're up there somewhere having a ball, while little Fred is down here wreaking havoc in your name and having a ball at the same time.

_Cheers to you, Fred._

* * *

So, what did you think? Did I do homage to Fred? Please let me know, I'd love some constructive criticism!  
Thanks very much for reading:-) 

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